


Another Day (Live And Not Die)

by girlintheglen



Series: Pre-series Illya [13]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-26
Updated: 2015-08-26
Packaged: 2018-04-17 09:01:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4660620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlintheglen/pseuds/girlintheglen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Early on the partnership is bonding through shared hardships and understanding</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another Day (Live And Not Die)

_It is therefore the policy of this Command from henceforth that an agent, when reaching the age of forty, will be reassigned to non-field status or honorably retired pending service reviews by Section I and the current CEA of said agent's respective region._

 

Napoleon Solo was contemplating his birthday, at least the expectation of his next birthday.It was a few months away still, but he would be thirty years old, a milestone for any young man but for an UNCLE agent… geesh, it meant he only had ten years left in the field.

 "Sweetie, why are you looking so glum?  That handsome face deserves a smile, and so do I."  The sweet young thing cooing and caressing Napoleon was Candace Sweetum.  Yep, that was her real name, something her parents had obviously not thought out beyond their own sense of humor.  The poor girl had grown up with that horrific moniker and somehow managed to  earn a degree from Brown, land a job at UNCLE and more than the occasional date with the nearly thirty Napoleon.

 "Sorry Candace, you do deserve a smile.  In fact you deserve more than a smile…"  And with that he swept her up into an embrace she'd be dreaming about for weeks to come, not to mention what he did after causing that catch in her breath.  Before the night was over, however, all the smiling and gasping for air would be cut short at the beeping sound of Solo's communication device.

 In a basement several blocks down from Napoleon's apartment, another young agent was being embraced by something slightly less romantic.  A burly minion from THRUSH was following directions being yelled out by the man's superior to crush the living daylights out of the damned Russian.

 "He's little enough, surely you can do better than that!"  It spurred the aggression to a nearly bone crushing intensity, causing Illya Kuryakin to cry out in pain as one of his ribs cracked.  His face, purple from the punches taken, froze into a tormented but stern refusal to let these goons take any pleasure from the pain they were inflicting.  He had hoped someone might think to rescue him, although being new in town and with the unfortunate heritage he possessed, it was entirely possible that no one cared if he survived.  This location had been identified, and he hadn't checked in for over twenty-four hours, so maybe… 

 Another crunch, another rib cracked and Kuryakin passed out.

 Someone was handling him but it wasn't the brute who had tried to squeeze him like a tube of toothpaste.  No, the voice was familiar somehow.

 "Mr. Kuryakin… Illya?  Come on, we need to get you out of here and back to Headquarters.' Illya opened one eye, the one not swollen shut, to see Napoleon Solo.  So they hadn't left him here to die.  That was something, anyway.

 "Illya, come on boy.  We're taking these jokers in and you need some help."  A hiss of pain from the blond made Napoleon shudder.  Yeah, it hurt like that sometimes.

 He was in and out for the next several hours, the constant pounding and two cracked ribs meant a concussion and no pain killers, at least not for twenty-four hours.  Kuryakin was in pain, and he wanted to speak Russian to someone and curse the men who put him the hospital.  He would settle for German, however, if only someone could understand it and commiserate.

 When Illya had finally been given pain killers and slept for fourteen hours straight, he awoke to see Napoleon Solo in a chair next to the door.  Was there someone else in here?  It seemed unlikely that the other agent was here for him.

 Again there was a sharp pain in the ribs, catching the Russian off guard as he let a groan of discomfort escape his lips.  Even that hurt, and then he realized that he couldn't actually move his lips.  

 "Oh, hey… Does it hurt? Let me call for a nurse." And so he did, and Illya watched in a haze of pain and not a little amazement that Solo's intentions seemed to be for his benefit.

 "Thank you, I seem to have slept through most of the pain medicine.' Napoleon walked over to the bedside then, a grimace on his face that denoted the empathy he had for Kuryakin's pain; he was not unaccustomed to the same treatment at the hands of the enemy.

 "How long have you been here?  You did not have to, you know."  And yet he was glad to have someone to greet him now that he was awake.

 "You looked pretty bad when I caught up to you, I just wanted to make sure you came out of it all right.  And it seems you will live."  A smile broke across the American's face, almost like relief.

 'Thank you again, I owe you…"

 "Nothing.  You owe me nothing.  You'll do the same for me someday, I have no doubt."

 Both men let that sink in, a realization that perhaps there was a partnership here after all.

 "Say, did you know that we have to retire by forty?  I can't believe that's only ten years away."  Illya cocked his head to one side, as though it might aid him in understanding what was being said.

 "Ten years for you, eleven for me.  But, really, do you think we will live that long?"

 His expression was deadpan, serious.  Napoleon realized then that it was entirely possible that death could come early for him, for either of them.

 "Yes, I do believe I'll live to be an old man.  I have to, because for ten years more I'll be working at this business of saving the world, and there's a lot more out there I intend to have and accomplish."

 The blond head nodded slowly, considerately.

 "Perhaps.  Then again…"

 "No.  We will live."

 Such was Napoleon's certainty that Illya determined to believe him.

 


End file.
